


Last Request

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam convinces Dean to deal with a ghost in a somewhat unusual manner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Request

"Miss Price, if you could please go over what happened again for us?" 

"I don't understand." She tried to straighten up, but grimaced when the movement shifted her broken leg and myriad of contusions. "I told all this to the police already."

Sam kept his pleasant smile, ignored the medicinal smells that permeated all hospitals, and tried again. "Well, ma'am," he said with affected chagrin, "we're coming at it from a different angle. Sometimes it helps to hear the tale straight from the source."

"We tend to notice more details that way, ma'am," Dean added.

"All right, then. Like I told the other officers," she said pointedly, "I was alone in my house and thought I heard a noise on the first floor. I walked to the top of the stairs, but didn't see anything. Just as I was about to return to my bedroom, I heard a whisper behind me, then someone pushed me down the stairs."

"What did it say?"

At that she broke her gaze and looked down, playing with the sheet. "I'm not sure exactly, but it sounded like 'betrayer.'"

~*~*~*~

Crossing the parking lot, Dean headed for the Impala. He made short work of his jacket and tie, tossing them in the back with satisfaction. "Three outta three, Sammy. Looks like you called it." 

The Winchesters had been in Manitou Springs for a couple of days, trying to find out what had targeted two—now three—members of the community. They'd spent a day in the library's newspaper archives looking for commonalities between the victims. For once they had several to choose from. When word of a third victim reached them, Sam was able to whittle down the list even further. He discovered that all three were trustees of the local Village Board, and had voted on only one issue the day before the first attack: whether to return the remains of one of their town's former citizens, Emma Crawford, to its resting place on the nearby mountain. It didn't pass—they had deemed it an "unnecessary and imprudent expenditure of tax payers' funds"—and three of the four people who had voted against the measure had been attacked. 

So far none of the attacks had been fatal, but the incidents were becoming increasingly violent. It appeared to be only a matter of time before someone was killed. 

Now there was confirmation, they could deal with the problem. Dean steered the car back to the motel. "I say we kick back and watch some more of that _MacGyver_ marathon until it gets dark and we can take care of Emma."

Sam shuffled through some notes and didn't answer. Dean nudged him and received an "Hmm" in return. 

"We know she'll be going after Drake Michaels next," Dean said. "So the question is, do we go baby-sit him or do we go directly to salt and burn without passing go?"

Sam glanced up, his "thinking face" clearly established.

Dean pulled into a spot in front of their motel room and parked. "After all, she'll probably try to stop us when we start digging her up," he said, turning the engine off. "That should keep him safe."

"Good idea," Sam said, smiling as he got out of the car.

Dean rolled his eyes. "It wasn't exactly meant to be comforting." 

Unlocking the room, Sam led the way inside. He tossed the folder on the table and turned around. "I have an idea."

Dean dropped on his bed, arms spread, and groaned. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Sam held his gaze for a moment. "Probably not."

Dean sighed. "Lay it on me."

"Let's not burn her; let's give her a proper burial, er, as proper as we can, anyway."

"How?" The second it was out of his mouth, Dean got it. "Nuh-uh, Sam. No way."

"She was a spiritualist who loved walking around Red Mountain; her dying wish was to be buried on the summit."

Dean rolled over and scowled. "You got into the good drugs again, didn't you?"

Sam scoffed as if Dean was the one being ridiculous. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Dean said. "Why the hell would we do that?"

"This would be something positive for a change, instead of just salting and burning."

"I like salting and burning," Dean insisted. "And if we salt and burn the bitch, I won't have to climb a mountain."

"I'll make you a deal: if this doesn't work, then you can salt and burn her."

Dean started to nod. Then he froze. "Hey, wait. That means if it doesn't work, I have to hike back up a mountain, dig her up, and _then_ salt and burn her?"

Sam shrugged. "Never said it was perfect. Look, as far as I can tell, Emma's been around for almost a hundred years, and she just started hurting people a week ago—"

"Which means it's time for her to be taken out," Dean countered quickly. "This chick is working up some serious bad karma points in the afterlife, hurting people and tossing them down stairs. Now explain to me why would we want to do her any favors?"

"Dean, I don't think she's murderous. She's just…acting out. Emma thought she was finally being put to rest and then it was taken away from her."

"So, what, this was the straw that broke the ghost's back?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"It's a ghost, Sam. It doesn't have feelings."

"Maybe this one does."

Dean hated when Sam got like this. That damn sense of right and wrong—nothing in the world was going to make him budge. 

"She just wants to go home, Dean."

"Yeah, and I just want to watch a guy save the world with a stick of gum and a roll of duct tape." Sam didn't say anything, but Dean could feel the recrimination. "No, Sam."

Then Sam did that thing with his eyes.

Manipulative little bastard. Dean flopped back down on the bed. When the hell did he become such a pussy anyway? "Fine, but you're carrying the body."

~*~*~*~

The shovel had stopped with a thunk when Sam heard his brother call his name. He lifted his head and looked at Dean who was holding his shotgun in front of him, staring at something. Sam followed his eye line to what he assumed was Emma's ghost—Victorian era apparel, including dress and bonnet—standing about fifteen feet away with a curious expression on her face. 

"I've reached the coffin," Sam said. He was immediately struck in the head by a mass of canvas.

"Here you go; stick her in." Dean didn't take his eyes off Emma. 

"A duffel bag? Isn't that kind of disrespectful?"

"Like she'll care. I'm not carting a coffin up a mountain."

Sam conceded, "Well, it did take twelve men the first time around."

"'Nough said. Let's go. What do I do about Miss Watchful over there?"

Sam had no idea. It didn't look like she was trying to hurt them or stop them. "As long as she doesn't move, you know, you could leave her alone."

"You want me to leave the ghost alone," Dean said incredulously. "I swear, this is the weirdest fucking case ever."

Sam opened the coffin lid and backed up. Wrinkling his nose, he collected her remains and shoved them—gently—into the bag. He zipped it up, closed the lid on the coffin, and lifted the bag out of the hole. 

"She's gone," Dean reported.

Sam glanced over automatically, verifying the statement. "Maybe she knows what we're trying to do," he offered.

"I sure as hell hope so." Dean offered his hand to help Sam out. "I don't want to be halfway up a mountain and get pushed down."

Sam chuckled as he started filling in the grave. "How about you help me out here, then it won't be your brother pushing you down?"

~*~*~*~

The biggest question was when to hike up the mountain. In a perfect world, they would do it in the daytime; the climb would be easier, and there would be less chance of falling off a cliff. But it would be difficult to dig a grave with a multitude of witnesses viewing their activities from the town below. Night had its own disadvantages, including the fact that lights would basically announce their presence. After a quick debate, they left about an hour before dusk, allowing them to go most of the way in daylight, but able to do the digging in the dark. 

Grabbing the bags from the trunk, Dean squinted up at the mountain. "Wait. Didn't you say her body was moved so they could put in a railroad? Let's just ride that."

"That's true," Sam said, "but it went out of business and doesn't operate anymore. Sorry."

Dean grumbled, "What a waste."

"So much for progress. That's what started all this." Emma had originally been buried on the summit, before being relocated to the southern slope by a railroad company. The company hadn't buried her deep, and with each passing storm, the mountain eroded until it released her coffin, washing her remains down to the valley below. They had been discovered and reburied in the town's cemetery.

Sam, of course, lugged the body—it was his idea, after all. After twenty minutes, Dean realized his mistake: in offering to carry the tools, he had the heavier bag. Half-an-hour after that, he started forming a bitch of a blister from his boots. Another hour passed and he was cursing little brothers everywhere after he stumbled over yet another tree root hidden in the dark. He had lost track of time when Sam consulted his phone's GPS for the hundredth time and finally stopped them. 

"This the place?" Dean asked, since it looked exactly the same as every other spot on the freaking mountain.

Sam nodded. "I think this is as close to the original burial site as we're going to get."

"All right, let's get this fucking thing over with." 

Sam grinned, teeth shining in the low light. "Dean, I'm so glad you're fully accepting and embracing this opportunity to help someone less fortunate than yourself." 

Dean flipped him the bird, making sure to capture it in the glow of his flashlight. He heard Sam snort, then Sam was wandering around, apparently looking for the "best place," before deciding to go with the section in the lee of a group of large rocks. The location would help shield the gravesite and keep it from being washed away for a second time. 

Good thing, because there was no way in hell Dean was ever coming back and doing this again. 

Dean was kind enough to let his brother do most of the digging. Luckily, although they had to go deep, they didn't have to go wide, since there was no coffin to bury. It didn't take nearly as long as it normally did.

Sam settled the bag into the hole, and they started shoving dirt over the top of it. Once it was filled in, both of them gathered a collection of stones and tamped them down over the top for added protection.

Sam stood up and brushed his hands off. "So, should we say something?"

"It's your show, Sid." Dean smirked when Sam gave an unhappy grunt.

Lowering his head, Sam clasped his hands together. "Uh, I hope you find peace, Emma."

"That's it? Seriously?" Dean snorted. "That's all you got?"

"It's not as though I prepared a eulogy." Sam glared at him. "Like you can do better?"

"Whatever." Dean turned to face the grave and took a deep breath. "Right. Okay, Emma, listen up. You're dead. That sucks. And you got washed down the mountain, which really sucks. And then nobody seemed to care, which sucks to the ultimate power. We're sorry about that." He glanced over at his brother. "Okay, well, Sam's sorry about that. Me, I'd rather be watching _MacGyver_. But you're back where you wanted to be. We picked a good spot for you. There are trees and nature stuff. So rest in peace and stop trying to hurt people, okay?" He waited a moment for a reply or for a ghostly hand to smack him upside the head."All righty then. Now fuck off and be happy."

Shaking his head, Sam muttered, "Amen."

The air seemed to still, then a cool breeze blew across the glen, carrying the scent of jasmine. 

Dean glanced over his shoulder. "Huh."

At the edge of the trees, Emma stood staring at the freshly dug grave, her white skirt gently swaying in the phantom breeze. She raised her head, eyes hidden in darkness under the shadow of her bonnet as she surveyed the mountain top and the sky, before her fathomless gaze returned to them both. Slowly she smiled, before turning and fading as she walked into the undergrowth.

"Um," Dean cleared his throat, "I think it worked, Sammy." 

"Yeah," Sam's voice was rough.

Dean let his brother have a moment, then said, overly loud, "Can we get the hell off this mound of dirt now?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, okay." 

Dean turned and started downward, careful to watch for those damn roots, when he felt the tool bag being lifted from his shoulder. 

"Thanks," Sam said softly, hitching the bag over his arm.

"Don't mention it…ever." Couldn't let Sammy think he was getting soft. "One thing I want to know," Dean said. 

"What's that?"

"How many good karma points do you think we get for helping a ghost?"


End file.
